


if you need to run

by lizzieraindrops



Category: Elementary (TV), Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Bi Joan Watson, Bisexual Character, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Drug Addiction, F/F, F/M, Femslash February, Gen, Multi, Platonic Relationships, Running, Spoilers for Orphan Black season 2, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-09 20:28:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3263303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizzieraindrops/pseuds/lizzieraindrops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The one where Beth Childs and Joan Watson go running together.</i>
</p><p>Joan Watson might be the only one who can help Beth Childs solve a pair of mysterious jewlery heists in Toronto and New York. After exchanging a few phone calls and more than a few laughs, Beth finds herself flying to the States to chase down a lead with nothing but a few changes of clothes and her running shoes. However, the thieves she's tracking aren't the only ones hiding secrets, and Beth can't outrun her own for long with Joan Watson running by her side. Meanwhile, tensions in the brownstone fluctuate as Joan and Sherlock reexamine the changing boundaries of their partnership and their profession.</p><p>Set prior to all of Orphan Black canon, and integrated loosely with the timeline and events of Elementary season 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my beta [cloneclubdrinkstrolley](http://archiveofourown.org/users/direwolfofhighgarden)!

The trilling of an old-fashioned telephone rang through the brownstone.

"Watson!" Sherlock shouted from downstairs. "If you would take that call! I'm a bit tied up."

"You need to stop practicing your straitjacket escape techniques during our consultation hours!" Joan yelled back from her room on the second floor.

"It's probably just one of your many pining suitors anyway," he called, slightly muffled from echoing all the way up the stairs. " _Please_ , just answer the telephone."

Joan rolled her eyes in frustration, but she stood and made for the TV room on the floor above, where they'd set up a landline for phone consultations. "That was _one time_ , Sherlock!"

The phone continued to ring as she approached the desk where it sat. The shrill rattling grated on Joan's nerves. "And will you please put the normal phone back in here, I feel ridiculous using this thing!"

She picked up the heavy receiver and lifted it to her ear. "Holmes and Watson Detective Consultations, this is Watson speaking."

"Uh, hi," said a hesitant female voice. "This is Detective Elizabeth Childs? I'm with the Toronto PD."

"Oh?" Joan said, surprised. "Well, we're in New York, but is there anything I can help you with?"

"Yeah, actually, there might be. I've got a jewelry heist up here that I think is related to one down there. It would have been a few months ago."

"A jewelry heist..." Joan said. She settled herself at the desk and reached for a pen and notepad. "I don't think it's one of our cases, we haven't investigated any of those for a while."

"Yeah, it's not... I talked to the NYPD earlier, and they said it's one of their cold cases now. But my contact, Detective Marcus Bell? He's a friend. He said to try calling you, see if you're willing to look into it." She sounded doubtful. "I've come up empty here, so if you could find me any kind of lead, I'd owe you a big favor from Toronto."

"Well, it can't hurt to look it over, at least. A fresh set of eyes always helps," Joan said. She pinned the receiver awkwardly against her shoulder as she made some notes on the yellow paper pad.

"I'll see if I can get a look at the case files at the NYPD," Joan continued. "A friend of Bell's is a friend of ours. Besides, we could do with a favor in Canada. I'll see what I can do and call you back, alright?"

"Great! Great. Thank you so much. Anything you find will be helpful, I've got absolutely zero leads right now. You can reach me at this number."

"Um, about that," Joan said, grimacing in embarrassment. "Could you tell me the actual number? My partner has the phone line hooked up to this clunky antique thing, so caller ID isn't exactly working right now."

Joan heard an unexpectedly bright but short laugh, as if the woman on the other end of the line was surprised to hear herself making it. "No way! Has it got one of the twisty dials and everything?"

"Yes it does," Joan said with a wry smile, leaning into the receiver. She felt her cheeks warm slightly. "It's like a film noir over here."

The other detective laughed again, more freely this time. "Oh man, I _love_ old noir films." She recited a number for Joan.

"Thanks," Joan said ruefully when she'd written it in her notes. "Is there anything in particular I should be looking for?"

"Not really," came the reply. "We know there were two people behind our heist, we think it's a man and a woman. It's kinda weird, they just held the place up and then ran, but they were really clean about it. No damage, no casualties, no prints anywhere in the shop, no face shots to get an ID with. Simple methods, but really smooth execution: they're experienced. Didn't leave anything behind, except a burner phone they ditched a block away. Nothing on it but one call to a New York number, and it's also a burner. No one around here knows who they are; I think they're from out of town. It's a long shot, but I asked Marcus if there'd been anything with a similar MO in the New York area, and, well."

"Which is why you're calling me now." Joan said.

"Right," she said in a droll tone. "I can email you a summary with the rest of the details. Unless you'd prefer a good old-fashioned telegram?"

It was Joan's turn to laugh. "Oh god, no. I'm gonna make Sherlock - Holmes, my partner - I'm gonna have him get rid of this thing right now. I'll talk to you soon, alright?"

"Alright."

Joan could hear her smiling.

"Thanks again, Mrs. Watson. I really appreciate your help."

"Oh please, just Ms., you make me sound like my mother," she said in mock horror. "You can just call me Joan. And you're welcome, Detective. I hope we can find something."

"Me too. Hope to hear from you soon, Joan. And call me Beth, everyone does. Beth Childs, over and out." Joan could hear her smirking as the line went dead. She rolled her eyes as she dropped the receiver back onto its hook with a clatter.

Sherlock chose that moment to wander in, looking like a slightly ruffled bird with his hair and t-shirt askew.

"Well, either that _was_ one of your myriad suitors, or you've accepted a highly amusing case for us." He padded over to her side in his lime-and-teal striped socks.

"Will you please stop acting like my dating life is your business?" Joan said tiredly. "I always make sure they know not to call this number now." She still winced in mortification whenever she thought about the occasion Sherlock had picked up a call on this line from a man who was taking rejection poorly. The incident probably had a lot to do with his diligent avoidance of consult hours now.

She tore the top page off of her notepad and handed it to him. "A friend of Bell's wants us to look at a cold case, see if we can find any new leads. Jewelry heist, experienced thieves. She thinks it's a man and a woman."

"'She'?" Sherlock said with raised eyebrows.

Joan gave him a testy sidewise look, then looked him up and down. She noted his disheveled yet fairly unperturbed demeanor. "I see you managed to escape without dislocating any major joints this time."

"I would have thought you'd be more pleased," he said dryly. He looked at the paper she'd given him, eyebrows creeping higher. "Toronto PD? A little outside of our usual jurisdiction, is it not?"

Joan heaved a sigh and leaned her elbows on the desk. "This cold case might be related to a current one she's investigating there. I only said we'd look at it, and that's if Bell will let us see the files. She says she'll owe us a favor if we can give her a new lead."

"Oh, so we're not being paid for this endeavor? I thought you said we should hold these infernal 'phone consultation hours' in order to find paying clients to provide the funds which we do _not_ accrue while consulting for the NYPD." He accentuated each letter of the acronym with a tiny, petulant tilt of his head, left right left right. "And why do you say 'if Bell will let us see the files' as if you might not take this case on? Of course he will, and _you_ appear prepared to solve this case already, not just suss out a new lead."

"Hey, we might be glad to be owed a favor from across the border one of these days," Joan said, gesturing with one palm upraised. "Consider it an investment. Now, are you going to call Marcus about the cold case, or am I?"

Sherlock surrendered the slip of paper back to her and showed her his palms. "You appear to have this under control. You probably don't even need my help with it, though of course I am at your disposal."

"Gee, thanks," Joan said dryly. "How about you help me out by putting a real phone back in here."

"This unit is perfectly real and perfectly functional, as well as aesthetically pleasing, Watson," he said, piqued.

"Well, it might look nice, but unless _you're_ going to be the one in here embarrassing yourself because you don't have caller ID - which you won't, because you always manage to be _busy_ during consult hours - I really need to have a modern phone in here."

"Do you think I hadn't thought of that already?" Sherlock said, sounding wounded. He reached over her shoulder to open a window on the computer that sat on the desk next to the phone. "Here, comprehensive call history. You can also input the numbers for outgoing calls here, though I can't imagine why you would pass up the chance to use the rotary dial."

Joan rested her forehead in her hand. "Of course. And you thought it unnecessary to tell me something so obvious?"

"Hmm," Sherlock said, scrunching up his face as he squinted at the call history log. "It seems this is not the same number as the one you wrote down."

"What?" she asked, looking up.

"Here," he said, pointing to the latest call. Joan looked at the log, then at her notes. Same area code, different number.

"Perhaps the one you wrote down is a personal number?" he said, twitching his eyebrows suggestively at her.

"Okay. Stop." Joan laid a light hand on his outstretched arm and gently pushed him out of her way to take over the computer. "It's probably just an alternate line for the Toronto PD."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and gave a little huff. "Very well. Let me know if you require my assistance. I must go tend to the hives." He padded back out of the room, socks scuffing lightly on the wooden floor.

Joan dialed Marcus on her cell phone and put the two Toronto numbers into a reverse phone number lookup while it rang.

"Hey, Joan," Bell said amicably when he picked up. "What's up?"

"Hi, Marcus," she said. "How's it going down at the station?"

"Ah, same old, same old. How about you? Any quirky private clients lately?"

"All too many," she said with good humor. "Actually, that's why I'm calling. I need to ask a favor."

"Sure, what do you need?"

"I just got a call from someone who says they know you, a Detective Childs?"

"Oh yeah, Beth. She called me earlier this morning. Remember I was telling you about my older cousin Art last week, the photography nerd who always made us sit for holiday photos? He's a detective, too. He's the one who inspired me to join the force. She's his partner."

"Oh, I see. Well, I'm taking her case, she wants us - me, I guess, Sherlock's not interested - she wants me to look at a cold case, a jewelry heist from a few months ago?"

"And I'm guessing you want me to pull the files so you can take a look?"

"Yes. I'll owe you a cup of coffee. Or a bag, if you want to be able to make something better than the stuff at the station."

"Alright, alright, no need to bribe me. Though I wouldn't say no to a nice cup of French roast. Why don't you stop by the station this afternoon and have a look?"

"That'd be great. I'll stop by with your coffee around two."

"Sounds good to me. See you soon, Joan."

"Thanks, Marcus. Bye." She hung up.

Joan looked at the results of the phone numbers she'd looked up. The one Beth had called from was indeed the Toronto PD. The other one appeared to be a prepaid private cell.

"Huh," she said to herself. Odd.

Well, one mystery at a time. Joan mentally pushed it onto a back shelf. She had coffee to pick up.

 

***

 

Beth felt someone looming behind her as she hung up the phone on her desk.

"Please tell me you were _not_ flirting with my cousin, Childs."

Beth made a show of rolling her eyes as she swiveled her chair around to face her frowning partner.

"That wasn't Marcus, and I wasn't flirting, dipshit," she said.

Arthur Bell crossed his arms and shifted his weight back onto his heels, regarding her skeptically. "Could've fooled me. Or did I not hear you saying my cousin's name a minute ago?"

Beth gave him a patronizing look. "Yeah, you did, 'cause I was talking to the consultant he referred me to, telling her that _he_ sent me. I might have a long-shot lead on the jewelry heist."

Art scoffed. "I don't know how Paul ever fell for game that pathetic," he said, turning on his heel. "Don't get my little cousin in jurisdictional trouble trying to clean up your own mess, Childs," he said over his shoulder.

Double ouch. Beth concealed a wince. "Ah, shut up, Art, I won't," she said as casually as she could.

"Just drop the jewelry heist thing and get started on the vacation you've been dying for already," Art called as he went out the door.

Beth silently swiveled back around to face her desk. She restlessly twirled the chair back and forth with the tips of her toes, her mind cast adrift.

Maybe her game wasn't as pathetic as Art thought, but it definitely hadn't caught Paul. She knew that now. Maybe it had never caught anyone. Maybe they'd _all_ been assigned to her. She found herself doubting all her memories now, questioning the sincerity of every past interaction with anyone she'd ever cared about.

Beth shook her head to clear it. Maybe she ought to take something. She needed to focus on the case, not get sidetracked by pointless existential angst. The jewelry heist. She needed to find the woman behind the jewelry heist. She took a deep breath and threw out a vain prayer, hoping against hope that Joan would find a lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV will be split evenly between Beth and Joan over the whole work; this is just a Joan-heavy chapter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The one where Beth Childs and Joan Watson go running together._
> 
> Joan starts looking into the New York jewelry heist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end-of-chapter notes for trigger warnings.

It was early evening by the time Joan came home to the brownstone with an armful of case files and a promise not to transmit evidence internationally. Judging by the constant patter of impacts coming from upstairs, Sherlock was enthusiastically practicing single-stick on the mannikin.

"Sherlock, I'm home," she called. She shut the second door against the chill in the foyer neatly with one hand, then shrugged one shoulder out of her pea coat. "Do you wanna order Thai tonight?" She moved the stack of files to her other arm to work her coat off the other shoulder, and hung it on its hook.

The noise stopped with a final loud _thwack_ , followed a moment later by a deeper _thud_ as the mannikin presumably fell over. "Thai is perfectly acceptable, Watson," he called. "Order my usual, if you would."

"Alright," she replied. Sherlock appeared on the landing above and trotted down the stairs toward her.

"Have you solved your heist yet?" he asked. He trailed behind her as she carried her files down into the kitchen.

"Not yet. I watched the witness interviews at the station, and I brought a copy of the security footage back with me. I think it _is_ the same people who did the Toronto job, though. All the same MO: simple holdup at gunpoint, no struggle, no prints, clean getaway, nothing but a burn phone in the dumpster a few streets away. It had one call to another burner on it, Cincinnati area code. I'm guessing they use them to confirm when they finish a job." She dropped the stack of case files onto the kitchen table with a papery slap and went to pull the flyer from the Thai place out of their drawer of takeout menus.

"It sounds as if they have a very tight schedule to keep, if they need to provide confirmation of a successful heist _during_ the getaway," Sherlock said.

"It does. I'd guess that they have more than one confirmation point, more than one burner. I think it means they're hiring themselves out for heists. But I'm taking a break from this right now." Joan dialed the Thai place on her cell and placed their order. Sherlock busied himself heating up the kettle for tea.

"Food should be here in about twenty minutes," she said. "I'll watch the security tapes after dinner, and then maybe I'll call Detective Childs back with what I have if it's not too late. It's not much, but at least I can tell her about the Cincinnati number."

"Never too late for a rendezvous," he said suggestively. He took the kettle off the stove when it started to whistle piercingly and filled the teapot.

"Okay, what is it with you?" Joan asked, suddenly incensed. She turned on him with one hand on her hip. "I didn't think it was possible, but you've gotten even more obnoxious about my love life since I told you I was bi. You're starting to make me regret it."

He eyed the emphatic gesturing of her free hand sidewise over his shoulder. "Watson, I would never presume to pass judgement upon you based on your attractions, surely you know that." He looked away to settle their red-and-yellow knitted tea cozy neatly around the pot.

"That's appreciated, but hardly the point," Joan said shortly. "I get that you think romance is pointless and unnecessary, and that's great if you're fine without it, but you're not me. And how am I ever supposed to feel comfortable going on a date with you breathing down my neck?"

Sherlock turned around to look at her, his face difficult to read. His fingers fiddled with the cuff of his blue and white alpaca-patterned sweater.

Right then, the consult phone rang shrilly from upstairs.

"Seriously? Who's calling that phone at this hour?" Joan said, simultaneously bemused and irritated.

Sherlock's ambiguous expression solidified into one of smug satisfaction. "There's one possibility I might deduce is likely," he said.

Joan threw her hands up in exasperation with a scoff. She turned on her heel and walked off. Taking the stairs two at a time, she made for the TV room to pick up the phone on the sixth or seventh ring. She pulled up the call log as she did so.

The number calling was the same as the previous one just below it, and there had only been one call this morning. Sherlock was right.

Joan squeezed her eyes shut briefly before answering. "Hello?"

 

***

 

"Hello?" A curt voice answered Beth's call.

"Hi, Joan? It's, uh, me again," Beth said awkwardly. She palmed her forehead with the hand that wasn't holding the phone.

"Detective Childs?"

"Yeah, that's me! Hey, I told you, it's Beth," she said with a smile. "Sorry to call so late, but I'm leaving the station soon. I forgot to tell you earlier, I'm gonna be out of the office for a week. I just wanted to know if you'd found anything yet that I could run through the system, while I'm still here." Beth let her hand fall and drummed her fingers on her desk.

"Oh, um, it's not a problem, I was actually going to call you soon anyway. I haven't found much yet, but I think these are the people you're looking for. Same smooth operation, similar types of jewelry stolen, even the burner phone dumped just down the street. Only this one had a call to a Cincinnati number on it."

Beth raised her eyebrows at _Cincinnati_. That was new.

"The only discrepancy is that all the reports say it was two men, not a man and a woman," Joan continued. "I'm going to look over the security tapes after I have some dinner, but they were wearing bandanas around their faces, and there was never a good enough shot to get an ID."

"Yeah, same thing here," Beth sighed. "We didn't even get a look at the partner on camera, just the gunman. Two men, though? That can't be right..." she trailed off, thinking.

"Wait, why did you think one of them was a woman if you never got a good look at them both?"

"I - well, our lone witness," she floundered, thinking: _shit shit shit_. "The shop owner, he only saw one of them, the one with the gun who made him get down on the floor behind the counter." That was true. "He heard them talking, though, and he said the other voice sounded feminine." That was a lie. The partner had never said a word.

"Well, we've got three witnesses in the New York shop who described two male suspects. Maybe one of them just has a high voice. They hardly spoke, though, which lines up with the professional methods."

"Well, there you go, then," Beth said nonchalantly. However, her mind was reeling. That shouldn't have been possible. The prints from the burner phone had flagged a match with _hers_! That's what had gotten her into all of this trouble in the first place. Fortunately she was still new enough to get it written off as a rookie mistake in evidence handling, though she was still sore about this undeserved mark on her otherwise stellar record. Beth furrowed her brow with confusion. It didn't make any sense. The print matched, so the partner had to be one of them, unless...

 _Oh_ , she thought, eyes going wide. Unless one of them wasn't a woman.

"Detective? Are you still there?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry! Spaced," Beth said. "So, no ID, but you said the burner had a call to Cincinnati?"

"Right."

"Well, that's new. I'll see if I can find anyone who knows about black market jewelry in Cincinnati. I don't suppose you could send me a copy of the security footage from the New York shop?" she asked doubtfully.

"I'd love to, but I told Marcus I wouldn't send any of the department's case materials internationally. He's already sticking his neck out for me, letting me borrow files from a case I'm not technically consulting on for them. I don't want to get him in trouble."

"Ugh, please don't do anything to compromise dear Marcus. If I got him in trouble, Art would kill me and dump my body in the quarry."

Joan laughed. It was a genuine, warm laugh. Beth felt like there was a lot more laughter going on in these calls than was warranted by a professional consult on a pair of jewelry heists.

"Thanks for understanding," Joan said. "Some people can't recognize when to stop pushing the rules."

"Wow, I never thought I'd find myself on the not-getting-yelled-at side of that comment."

Joan laughed even louder, though it was abruptly cut off and muffled, like she'd put her hand over her mouth. "Sorry," she said in a low voice, "I'm trying not to let my partner hear me, he's being - nevermind, not important. Anyway, I'll see if I can find anything in the security videos, but I don't have much else to work with. I'm assuming you can't send me your video footage to compare, either?"

Beth let out a single, humorless laugh. "I'd get into more shit for unofficially sending evidence to a private investigator in the States than to the NYPD, and I'd be raked over the coals for _that_." She sipped the last cold dregs from the coffee mug on her desk and made a face.

"That's what I thought. Well, without any kind of ID, I don't know how we can definitively confirm that they're the same suspects, short of you coming down here to see for yourself."

"Well, that's...." Beth paused, thinking fast. "Actually, that wouldn't be impossible."

"Oh?" Joan said, sounding perplexed. "But didn't you just say you were taking a week away from the office?"

"Uhh..." Beth glanced around her quickly. No one too near. "Actually, they're forcing me to use my vacation hours. I never use them and I stay late way too often. The department doesn't want me to be able to hold it against them." Joan didn't need to know that she was a rookie detective who'd just used up the few vacation hours she had accumulated to get this week off. It'd be true in a few years, anyway. "I'm gonna be bored out of my mind all week."

"Oh, you're one of those, are you?" Joan said knowingly. "And you're thinking about coming all the way down here on your time off just to follow a lead? You must really want to catch these guys."

"Well, yeah, I do," Beth said. "I... kind of messed up processing the evidence on this one," she admitted in a subdued tone. She could only hope this cover would hold up to Joan's scrutiny. Judging by what she'd heard from Marcus about her and Holmes, they were extremely attentive to detail. Maybe this hadn't been the best idea. _Too late now_ , she thought resignedly.

"I let my prints get on the burn phone, and I smudged the partial that was on it. Not enough left to get a match. I'm never gonna live it down. So, I really want to clear my name by closing this case."

"They left a print on the burn phone?" Joan said skeptically. "That doesn't match the rest of their MO."

Beth palmed her forehead again forcefully. _Brilliant move, Childs_ , she thought. If they'd also left a print that flagged _her_ file on the New York burner... but no, Joan was right. It didn't fit. The Toronto heist had to be the exception. Something must have gone wrong here.

"Yeah, weird, right?" she said, scratching her head nervously.

"Yeah..." Joan said slowly. "Well, I'll see if I can get the NYPD to double-check the burner for prints, just in case." Beth grimaced. "And you're welcome to come take a look at the video, if you're actually considering coming down here. As long as you don't run around interrogating people and stirring up trouble for us or for Marcus."

"Oh, of course not," Beth said. "Don't worry, I've got the threat of my partner accidentally shooting me hanging over my head."

"You two sound really close." Joan said dryly.

"Yeah, how did you know?" Beth grinned into the phone.

"Lucky guess." Joan sounded amused. "So, do I have to worry about finding you on my doorstep sometime this week?"

"Ah..." Beth hedged, feeling her face fall. This was a bad idea. _Everything_ about this situation was a really bad idea. And yet, she couldn't let even this slim chance to locate another identical pass her by. "Actually, yeah, you do." She forced herself to smile again, knowing it would show in her voice. It wasn't nearly as difficult as she thought it would be. "How does tomorrow afternoon sound?"

"Wow, you really don't know how to take a vacation, do you?"

"Nope," Beth said guilelessly.

Joan chuckled. "Well, stop by 42 Stamford Avenue in Brooklyn. I'll be around."

"Alright. I guess I'll be seeing you soon, Joan Watson."

"I suppose so. See you tomorrow, Det- Beth."

"There you go," Beth said with an easy grin. "Later."

For just a moment, everything was going well. Then, the instant after Beth had hung up the phone, she was stunned by an unanticipated and unbelievably powerful surge of anxiety. Her muscles seized. Her breath caught in her throat. The fluorescent lights were suddenly too bright, glaring off every pale surface. She grabbed her purse and forced her stiff legs to carry her toward the bathroom. She nearly crashed into Art as she turned the corner into the hall.

"Whoa," Art said, stepping smoothly around her to avoid a collision. "You're still here, Childs?" he asked, incredulous.

"Y-yeah. Almost done." Beth kept walking.

"You okay?" he called after her.

"Yeah," she gritted out.

"Then get your ass out of here, Beth. You can take a break from the heist case, the jewelry shop's not putting any pressure on us. Go start your vacation."

She waved a hand brusquely in acknowledgement as she pushed open the bathroom door.

The lights in here were even worse, but at least Beth could put a flimsy stall door between her and them. She flipped the latch closed and put the toilet lid down so she could sit. A moment of rummaging in her bag brought up a little orange bottle. The contents rattled as she twisted the white lid off. She shook out two round tablets, then put one back. Just one, why would she need two? She pulled out the little water bottle she kept in her purse for emergencies like this. Her throat rejected the stale water like oil, but she forced the pill down with it. Then, she sat as still as she could on the stool, trying not to choke on her own breath.

Ten minutes later, she unlatched the door and went to stand in front of the sink, leaning heavily on the counter with locked elbows. She took a few deep, calming breaths, her body relaxing. Beth briefly looked her reflection in the eye and found its gaze hard to meet. She'd never had to take an extra pill at work before. She really needed to have her prescription adjusted, but she was too afraid she would break under pressure if the department's psychiatrist questioned the source of her heightened anxiety. If Beth had to worry that someone at work suspected that she was hiding something, it would turn her into even more of a nervous wreck.

She looked in the mirror again. _You've gotten yourself in so deep you're gonna drown, Childs_ , she thought. Her mind wandered to the unknown woman - no, the _man_ , apparently - behind the jewelry heists. Better to be in the know than to be clueless and unable to protect yourself, right? She had to find him. He deserved to know.

Beth braced herself, physically with her hands against the counter and mentally with a list. First, she had to book a flight to New York. Then, she needed to watch the security videos a few more times to refresh and imprint the grainy images in her memory. Then she could go home and pack. What was appropriate attire for solving a crime and covering it back up, all in one week? She would need her running shoes, for sure. She was going to have a lot of stress to work off, if she had the time. Even if she didn't, she'd need to _make_ time. She couldn't let her anxiety put this dubious investigation at risk.

On the bright side of things, she wouldn't have to be in the same country as Paul's watchful eagle eyes for a week. Additionally, she might get to see the smile that went with that warm laugh of Joan's. She mentally shook herself to dispel the thought. _Uncalled for and definitely unwise, Childs_. Still, she couldn't help but look forward to the possibility.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for an anxiety attack and prescription drug abuse.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The one where Beth Childs and Joan Watson go running together._
> 
> Joan and Sherlock have a talk, and a Canadian cop arrives in New York.

Joan spent all morning anticipating the afternoon with a restless energy. She'd uncovered some new details regarding the jewel theft last night, and she was keen to share them face to face with her spontaneous visitor. However, her mood wavered between eager impatience and mild dread. She was rather frustrated, mostly with herself, for not having told Sherlock yet about the impending house call.

The atmosphere in the brownstone was still a bit tense since their prematurely interrupted squabble the night before. She was reluctant to bring the issue up again while his manner was still somewhat frosty. If Joan was honest with herself, she was still feeling and acting inordinately nettled, as well. She'd been avoiding the kitchen all morning, as Sherlock had set up some sort of chemical experiment involving a lot of beakers down there.

However, by late morning, Joan really wanted a pot of tea, so she figured she might as well head downstairs and get both tasks over with at once. She composed herself neutrally and padded down into the dimly lit room. She eyed Sherlock's forest of glassware warily. She crossed to the sink and filled the kettle, the brief rush of water and the muted bubbling of Sherlock's heating solutions the only liquid sounds. The morning quiet was deeper than usual. Joan was usually woken up by the various sounds of Sherlock's restless presence, but not today.

"What are you working on?" she asked quietly.

"Attempting to devise a method of detecting poison residues in tobacco ash," Sherlock replied.

Joan thought for a moment. "That'd be an effective way to poison someone, directly to the lungs. Straight into the bloodstream. I can't imagine a lot of poisons would survive in the ash without burning off, though."

"Precisely. Hence, why I am testing for residues."

Joan leaned against the counter behind him in silence, waiting for the kettle to heat on the stove. She took a calming breath.

"I have someone coming over to talk about the cold case this afternoon. Can you keep the noxious fumes to a minimum?" she said casually.

She knew he would hear the concealed tremor of guilt in her voice and know there was something she was not saying. There was nothing she could do about that. In the past year or so, she had learned that as often as Sherlock felt the need to make his deductions aloud, he actually kept even more of them to himself.

It was difficult sometimes, for Joan to know that someone was nearly as aware of her as she was of herself. And yet, as uncomfortable as it could be at times, Joan realized that this fact wasn't precisely what had been bothering her. It was merely the medium through which their conflict was being expressed. The source of the current tension between them lay elsewhere. Why else had their usual bickering bothered her more than usual lately?

"It will be rather crowded around here today, with the both of us and Ms. Hudson, as well as one of your Irregulars," Sherlock said. He lifted one hand make a small adjustment to the fit of his chemical goggles.

"It's Ms. Hudson's day to tidy up, isn't it?" Joan said. "Well, that's great, I was wanting to ask her something about my case anyway."

She paused, unsure how to proceed. The two of them were stalled in an amicable neutrality, but Joan wanted to smooth out the discord that had them both subtly unsettled.

"I can take my meeting out of the brownstone if it will make the place too busy for you. I know it can get a little overwhelming for you sometimes."

She shifted her weight to her other foot, then nudged herself to speak again. "Also, it's not one of my Irregulars, though that's beside the point right now." And she knew he already knew that.

Sherlock bent away from her across the table to pick up a full flask.

"Not necessary, Watson. I can keep myself occupied down here well out of everyone's way, and I am fully capable of doing so without producing airborne tocsins." He carefully poured out a measurement of clear green liquid into a graduated cylinder.

"I know," Joan said. "I just want you to know you don't have to. We both live here, and we both need more space sometimes."

Sherlock gave a small, brisk sigh and set the main flask of green solution down.

"I will endeavor to better respect your boundaries, Watson," he said without turning around, head slightly bowed. "However, I entreat you to remember that this _is_ a space that we share, and that there will always be inevitable overlap."

"I understand that. But sometimes, it feels like most of my space is _in_ the overlap already." Joan said quietly. Suddenly, Sherlock's spoken and unspoken words sparked a leap of intuition.

"Sherlock," she said softly. "You know the fact that I'm dating doesn't mean I'm trying to replace our partnership, right?"

Sherlock let out another short breath and picked up a glass stir rod.

"Indeed, intellectually, I believe I do," he said. He tipped a little plastic dish of gray ash into a new beaker of clear liquid and began stirring it vigorously with the rod. It seemed to slow to dissolve. "However, I am having some difficulty lately understanding precisely what it is that you want."

Joan looked down at her bare feet against the dark tile floor. Behind her, the kettle started to make the rushing sound that preceded boiling.

"I know," she said in an undertone. "I'm still figuring that out, myself. Our relationship... it isn't like anything I ever expected to be part of my life. But that doesn't mean it's any less important to me than the more conventional kind."

The minute repetitions of Sherlock's stirring fluttered against the bulk of the already full silence and the white noise of the kettle.

"Our partnership means the world to me," Joan said. "But there's a part of me that still wants the other kind, too. And I don't think that will ever go away."

Sherlock paused in his stirring, holding the beaker up to eye level to briefly peer at the clumping ash.

"I see."

He resumed stirring with a clinking of glass on glass.

"I suppose that if growth and change is possible even for me, then it is inevitable for you," he said. "I only hope that we may do so together."

He stopped to examine the contents of his beaker again. He nodded to himself, and dumped the cylinder of green solution into it.

Joan nodded silently from where she stood behind him. "Me too."

They fell into a not unpleasant silence. The sound of the kettle's boiling sank into a deeper burble as it finally let out a whistle. Joan went through the motions of preparing tea while Sherlock continued his experiment.

The two of them danced around each other in the quietness as if they were chefs in a busy kitchen, despite the fact that they rarely cooked together. They never once touched, but were thoroughly aware of the other's motions in this single space.

Soon, the sound of the doorbell ringing echoed down to them. They looked toward the stairs in unison.

"That'll be Ms. Hudson," Joan said. "I'll get it." She started for the stairs, but then paused.

"Sherlock."

She waited for him to glance briefly toward her in acknowledgement. "We can talk more about this later," she said. "And we'll need to. Things change. _We'll_ change. I may not even always live here like this. But I'll always want you to be a large presence in my life."

Sherlock paused where he had crouched to peer at his cylinder, halfway through measuring out another quantity of green solution. He looked at her between two of the bubbling beakers on the hot plate, his face inscrutable. So many years honing his skills of observation must have made him loath to expose his inner workings externally. This tendency they found themselves sharing clouded their perceptions of each other, and the deductive skills of their trade did not suffice for communication when they were too close to read the other accurately. These cautious conversations, delicately dancing around each other, were still necessary.

"Likewise, Watson," was all he said. He quietly returned to his measurements.

Joan felt a fond smile flit across her face in amusement at his concision, chased by the faintest flicker of apprehension. After a moment, she turned and went to answer the door, shedding some of the weight of their conversation from her shoulders as she ascended the stairs.

"Coming!" she called as she reached the inner door to the foyer. She pushed it open, then unlocked the outer door to find Ms. Hudson on the doorstep with a canvas bag full of cleaning supplies and her ever-present air of effortless elegance.

"Ms. Hudson!" Joan said with a smile. "Come in, it's good to see you!"

"Good to see you too, dear." She pulled Joan into a warm hug as she made her way in.

"Sorry I'm not actually dressed," Joan said, with a look down at her pilled red house sweater and faded Mets tee. "It's been a slow morning."

"Oh, honey, it's just me. I know you two stay up to all manner of odd hours. Stay comfy like that all day if you like, you deserve it once in a while." She handed Joan her bag to hold while she hung her coat on a hook and pulled her hair out of the way into a simple, classy bun.

"I'd love to, but I can't stay like this _all_ day. I've got someone coming over for a consult sometime this afternoon."

"Well, in that case, let me know if you want any help from me. I always love getting you all fixed up."

Joan rolled her eyes. "That's hardly necessary for a cold case consult." She handed Ms. Hudson's bag back to her.

"Of course it's not. But why wait for an occasion to look fabulous? You don't do it near often enough."

"Well, when you put it _that_ way," Joan said, considering. "Actually, would you mind putting my hair in that side braid again, like you did that one time? I really liked that."

"Of course, hon. Go get yourself dressed and just let me know whenever you're ready." She put her hands together and looked around. "Well! In the meantime, I'd better get started. Anything that needs particular love today?"

"Not really, maybe just dust the shelves upstairs. Oh, and you can avoid the kitchen today. Sherlock's doing chemical experiments in there."

"Oh, my," Ms. Hudson said knowingly. "I'll just pop my head in for a moment to tell him hello, then." She smiled up at Joan as she started down the stairs. "Go put on a nice dress, girl. I'll be back in a tick." She disappeared into the kitchen.

Joan grinned to herself and trotted lightly up to her room. She headed for her walk-in closet, determined to find something she hadn't worn in a while. Ms. Hudson was right: there was no need to wait for an occasion. And yet, Joan thought, this felt more like one than not.

 

***

 

Beth's flight arrived late at JFK International that afternoon, so she ended up catching a cab straight from the airport to the Brooklyn address Joan had given her. She hoped she wasn't keeping Joan waiting.

Beth became more and more doubtful as they drove deeper into what was obviously a residential neighborhood. "You sure this is the place?" she asked the driver.

"Of course I am, lady," he said. "You sure you got the right address?"

"Yeah?" Beth double-checked what she'd typed into her phone.

"Then this is the place."

He parked the car next to a row of brownstone apartments. Beth could see a plaque reading _42_ on the nearest one.

"I guess it is," she said with a shrug. "Thanks."

She fetched her single small bag from the trunk and dropped it on the sidewalk while she paid the driver. She watched him drive off, then carried it up the steps and rang the bell. She chewed her lip and looked the place up and down while she waited. Maybe it had been refurbished as a private office.

Suddenly, she heard a clatter of the door being unlocked, and it opened in front of her.

"Joan?" she asked uncertainly. The striking face looking out at her was framed by dark, shining hair plaited in a carelessly elegant swirl from her right temple to just under her left ear. A few freckles dusted her cheekbones below her angled eyes.

"Beth?" the woman asked. "Hello! It's great to meet you." She held out her hand to shake.

"Yeah, you too!" Beth switched her bag to her other hand so she could shake Joan's. "Sorry, my flight got delayed, so I came straight from the airport."

"You didn't have to do that," Joan said. She ushered Beth into the building graciously.

"Well, too late now," Beth said with a grin. "Wow, you look lovely." The words fell out of her mouth unbidden.

Did Joan blush a little? It was hard to tell in the dim foyer.

"Thank you!" she said, hardly missing a beat. "So do you, as a matter of fact. I love that coat." She gave Beth a bright smile.

"Oh, thanks. It's my favorite," Beth said distractedly. She tried to take a better look at the dress Joan was wearing so she could comment on it, but damn; if she'd thought her laugh was warm, then that smile was the sun, and Beth couldn't look away.

_Shit_ , she thought.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] If You Need To Run](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3608823) by [MayContainBlueberries](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayContainBlueberries/pseuds/MayContainBlueberries)




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